Kiss and Tell

Men are simply boys with a different name.
They are all the same,
Each just has a different face.
They mistake lust for love with fighting the urge.
But they forever force the will to feel to stay away.

Day after day it's what every girl prays.
But The Prince doesn't come without a price.
So, girl, don't play nice.
He will only disregard your eyes.

And it's the name of the game:
Charades...fake ways.
Keep on guessing until he denies your face.
You've only wasted days
in the oblivious game you've played.

That sleeve must feel heavy,
with that heart hanging down.
It only compliments your frown.

The poor girl will just have to learn,
that a home for her heart must be earned.
Because there are few faithful enough to care for a broken vessel.

So don't waste your kisses or your kindness.
Your efforts will only fail.
Boys do kiss and tell.

You're no different than any other girl.
For you will only envy the exception.
Try not to dive too deep in his deception.
Heed this lesson:
Men are simply boys, forever adolescent.

-R.

120 Days Ago

I am here in this world.
I am standing, waiting, breathing.
The Earth spins below me, contradicting my existence.
It moves ever so gracefully sucking my body toward its core.

I never imagined this day.
It was never in my plan.
My heart so strong.
My mind so brave.
I doubted my will so early.

I climbed trees, just to be free.
To see how far away I could get from the real.
I could sit for hours staring at the sky, attempting to figure out its secrets.

Hurt me so,
And pretend you know.
Feel my blood flow into the abyss of the unkown.

-R.

Tempo

A little poetry never hurt.

Written Sunday February 25, 2007

Dear,

Tell me how you feel.
Look in my eyes,
Unlock my heart,
Embrace and let kill.

Falling into irrationality.
I with you,
and you with me.
Bleed your very thoughts.
No bondage, live free.

Dirty, yet so clean.
Liberated, yet a secret's keep.
Beating, strumming...
Our hearts are thumping to the rhythm of the unordinary.

I am not worried.

My age has reversed 6 years.
All of this with no underlying fears.
I have yet to feel insincere.
For it is, you.

A body lying close to mine.
Holding hands in the starlight.
Under the moon, all has lost color.
"Live with no regrets,"
I say to my lover.


-R.

Thoughts

I guess this is a time that I feel provoked to write. I'm not quite sure how I got to the place in my life, but everyday I am amazed that I'm here. Every day, I feel more obligated to search for something I didn't have the day before. Maybe it's a new person. A new favorite color. A new t-shirt. Just something.

I feel so captivated and consumed with what I can not change that when I eventually move on or attempt to forget and I always end up remembering. And then I'm back to square one. I told my friend the other day, that I couldn't remember the last time I had cried. It had been months. I've been holding on to something that made me feel rage over sadness. I suppose this is a good thing...


Today, I cried.


I feel overwhelmed with my fears and my fate. My doubts that I am so reluctant to call...doubts. God said there is no need to be curious. But I am. I can't help it. It's human nature. But who needs human nature, when you have God?

I am running out of patience. I am running out of motivation. And I need to discover something that inspires me more than the anomaly of life. I need to be impressed. And every day I will willingly wait for this. My mind is constantly ticking. Like a relentless clock, anxious to gear the second hand closer and closer to every minute. I am a constant.

I will wait for what is next. I suppose I have no choice. Hopefully, I pray, it will be what I continue to wait for.

-R.

The List

" A man is just a man full of faults and weakness. Like a young Jerusalem, all alone and speechless." -Matisfyu

Where do I begin? I vowed to my self, to never, ever let a man stand before me and dictate my future. My emotions or my betterment. And although a few have attempted, they've all failed. To my delight.

See, I've observed plenty. And what I've found is that every single man has realized this: they do not compare. They are not fit to be MY Mr. Right-now. Because it's my intellect, my determination, my lack of ignorance, my sarcastic humor, my unwillingness to to be fooled, and plenty more that has made them realize that I am too great of a person to be "real" with. Because being real means being attached. And who wants to be attached to someone who cares for you? That's how feelings get hurt. But when TIME is SPENT....as in you can't get that back...it's a catch-22.

The favors. Oh, I do NOT believe in serving the unappreciative. But for a select few, I will sacrifice my time and my pride. But to be lied to. To be deceived...even after long efforts of investigation of a person's demeanor has taken place, is sinful and shameful.

THIS I loathe. THIS I will never tolerate. THIS will have you on my list until I completely erase you from my memory. You're a thief when you're a liar. And what seems to baffle me through all of this, is that I disclose this fact. I let people know at the very beginning that lying to me is the worst thing. But to a liar, this doesn't matter. Only selfishness is in mind.

So, what is the conclusion? How do I live with people who only attempt to build themselves up by breaking others down? I laugh in pity. I can only shake my head and pray that they will some day realize their faults. And although I will remain stronger than I was before my encounters, I do only regret wasting so much time. Time is something that you can't get back.
It is so precious. And it's sad that days that one once adored can be tainted with regret and hate.

For you:
"Don't ever expect regret to take "it" back, for guilt is everlasting. Justice was never promised to you at birth."

-R.

How to Save a Life

This is an essay I wrote about a year ago for class. I used a poem I wrote as a format for different parts of the essay.


Monday, March 09, 2009

How to Save a Life

The ink will soak a thin, blue lined canvas; spelling out the fate of a lost soul. Words will appear in mute. Your lips move to be bold.

First, it is important for you to anxiously absorb everything thing that surrounds your life. Your mind must work like a ticking clock on the wall: constant and relentless. Life doesn’t have subtitles; therefore it is up to you to make it all sensible and tangible. Take note of your blond haired, blue eyed comrade sitting conveniently front and center of the classroom. She is making sure all of the testosterone engorged males are admiring her long, slender legs and dominant, natural endowments. As the teacher begins class, the girl finds her comfort by throwing her long Pantene commercialized hair over her shoulder and opening up her purple spiral notebook, in preparation for the day’s essential lesson. Take note.

You wonder if she is provoking reactions via physical attraction. Or is this a façade and not at all truth? Tick, tick, tick…you can hear your brain working to relieve the stress that her beautiful exterior has caused you. Her round, heart-shaped face seems to be acting diligently to operate as a mask. One more look at hometown Barbie and you notice the thick layer of foundation covering discolorations on her neck, slightly hidden with outfitting necklaces. Your eyes slowly move down to the inside of her fair-fleshed forearms and realize those are blotchy too. Tick, tick, tick…your brain is yelling at you again: bruises. Fights. Alcohol. Father. Get out. Take note.

A voice echoes throughout the world and a heart adopts the pulse. Two eyes will meet the null. One mind refuses to be full.

Secondly, it is vital that you’re willing to be brave. Although battles are often fought in vengeance and lack of tolerance, sometimes it is necessary to fight for another’s salvation. This is your time and your opportunity to feel what she is feeling. She squirms to comfort herself in her replicated wooden desk and she turns slowly to face your gaze. Take note. With every bruise your eyes touch, you can hear her cries. And in her eyes you can feel her lies. She’s so good at them. “I fell down the stairs. I’m clumsy,” she says. It’s a common excuse that she often uses. Out from the place where she hides the truth, you can sense the pain of her bedroom sorrows. She wants you to know. She’s revealing it all without a single movement of her lips.

Your brain is engaged in processing your new-found burden. Your hand won’t stop cramping from the tendons working so tediously to record this girl’s unspoken story. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is beyond necessary for you to write. For with every word that your pen utters, your hand will be inches closer to hers. With every rhythmic scribble of your black ballpoint pen, her smile becomes more genuine. She needs you.

She is a person that you never knew. She is too unsatisfied to smile and very familiar with lies. So in life, she dies.

Lastly, you find that it is your purpose at this very moment to stand and display your hand. And the flowing words that cease to purge from her mind to yours, speeds up the beating of your curious heart. And you, as her only savior, will confess it all on your convenient, paper canvas. In bravery, you meet her after class out into the hallway to reveal the knowledge that you’ve gained. Although she is depending on your admiration to relieve her, she is so desperately in need of your vulnerable ears. As you grab her arm while walking out the class room door, she leans over and cups her warm, satin hands over your intimidated ear and releases her pain. Involuntarily, your eyes shut. Her words are inducing nightmares as she whispers a melodic lullaby of her innermost horrors. She is not proud. After allowing you to relish in your anger and disgust, she is eager to hear what you have for her. After all, she knows you have plenty to say. But you are frozen. You’ve somehow lost your bravery. But she is not disappointed, for an ear that would listen was all that she wanted. And you will continue to hold the ink loosely to your tongue. And she will finally smile.

Her beauty relied on the shallow seeing eyes of the crowd. But little did they know that the curtains of this show, in truth, were really a shroud.

Cold

The ivory flakes fall against the warmth.
The melting begins.
The thought of the man infratuates her every move,
dictating her reality.

His hands.
His eyes.
His captivation, undisguised.

Euphoria, made real
on a day where caramel fell one with the snow.

She moves in a daze,
as snow creates a haze.
Her heart beats with haste.
She's so eager to speak his name.

The wind breathes on her face.
She feels warm in the cold,
for there's a truth gone untold.
And every second she locks it inside,
there's a shiver her body can't hide.

Euphoria. Nirvana. Perfection. Deception.

-R.